Hierarchy
by shamrock920
Summary: A deeper look into the pride of hellhounds in Crematoria. Rated M for gore, although people's standards of gore differ, so don't bash me if it looks like child's play to you. Oneshot.


**Hierarchy**

Number 9 opened his eyes as he heard the bolts being pulled back, the rusted mechanisms screeching against each other. A flicked ear and a low growl was all it took for the others to stir, their silver-blue eyes reflecting like the smooth surface of an underwater lighted pool at night. The human voices reached their ears and he stood, his large form barely fitting in the cage that was his home.

Well, part of his home anyway.

His real territory was beyond the cage, beyond the bolted door, it was where the filthy humans mined, fought, fed and died. It was his pride's feeding ground. But it was as much as a prison to the humans as it was to them. Neither could go farther than the walls of the caves, crevices and slopes. But he had, his pack had the easy-to-catch food. It was instinct to go for the dying or weak ones, but they were all in that category, so whatever was caught served as a meal.

"Hey lil' kitties, is time for yer feedin'!" One of the guards mocked, pulling down the cords from the ceiling. They hooked to a hook on top of each cage and once they left the room, they would be safely behind steel doors and with a remote control, make the cords lift, lifting the cage doors.

They went about their business, hooking the cords, laughing at the caged animals. Number 6 nearly took off one of the guards hands before 9 could snarl him to hold back and he was punished with the electrically charged baton. 6 could only let out a pitiful whine as the currents of electricity went through him; the tip of the baton cruelly shoved beneath his scales, where the softer and more venerable flesh lay.

"Teach you a lesson, you crazy fuck." The guard hissed, stepping away. 6 couldn't even stand after the punishment and the pride watched 9, the cold eyes preparing a judgment for the prison guard.

"Alright, let's get them out of here." The third said, sounding tired. For the fifth time he had been denied a transfer to another prison and he was pissed off.

They left the room and the scrap of metal was their sound of freedom. Getting out, they stretched and greeted each other with snaps of vice-grip jaws and friendly bats of talon-sharp claws. 9 padded over to 6's cage, which wasn't yet empty. The pride gathered, watching their alpha step into the cage, nudging 6 in what was a comforting manner to the other beasts. To a human it could've looked like a test to see if the animal was dead, dead and quickly becoming food.

The doors to the prison opened and the alarm sounded, but none of the hellhounds moved. 6 opened an eye and whimpered, still in pain. With another gentle nudge and a lick, 9 backed out of the cage and bounded off into the prison, his pride in tow. He was out for blood this time.

4 and 7 stood prowling on an outcropping, watching the prisoners run frantically. They watched from the darkness until they picked their target, 7 crouching low then springing out and into the air. 7 easily landed on his desired target and with a swipe of his paw, snapped the neck and mangled the face of the prisoner. The first roar of success echoed off the dusty orange walls that now were spattered with red.

4 was younger. He watched eagerly and finally found a limping prisoner. No one was helping the man and the chase wouldn't be hard. Leaping from the outcropping as his elder had done, he skidded onto the ramp and barreled straight forward, his claws spread as he leaped and knocked the man to the ground. In an undignified and immature manner, he sunk his teeth into the soft throat of his prey, relishing the taste of blood and flesh. Holding down the chest of the human with one paw, he locked his jaw and ripped up and out, the end of the man's vocal cord hanging from the mass of flesh and blood that dripped from the hellhound's jaws. The second roar of success was sounded.

Some hunted together, others alone. 9 sent off 8, 17 and 3 to gorge and bring food back for 6. While they weren't able to drag back a corpse, they ate the food and then would regurgitate it for 6, the exact same way they would for a young cub. 9 stalked the ramps, watching the guards being lowered, their lights mounted on their guns prowling the dark corners. Then, he saw him. The man that had stunned 6 into near death. He drew back his lips in a snarl and waited until the man had passed beneath his ramp before he jumped. He made no noise as he glided through the air, but suddenly he grabbed onto the human as if he were hugged him. But this was the grim reaper's hug. His claws sunk into the man's shoulders and he pushed him off the cord, sending them both hurtling to the rocky ground. He released himself from the human and gracefully twisted through the air and landed on his feet. The other guards didn't stay around, they yelled to be brought back up.

9 swatted away the gun that the human was holding and immediately gashed out his chest, his experienced claws retracting as he pulled up from the hit. The guard gurgled a scream as something, maybe blood, began to fill his lungs. 9 clawed open his body again and again, finally breaking off a rib cage. Shattered ribs littered the floor around them as he smashed off the other side of the rib cage, leaving the chest gaping and bloody. Opening his jaws he let out a land-shaking roar before he dove his head into the human, gorging himself on the cooling flesh. He locked his teeth around the heart and tore it out, slicing it with his teeth as the organ dribbled out the remaining blood from the pressure of the bite. Swallowing the ruined flesh, he went down again, peeling slabs of flesh from the inside, swallowing it by pounds, barely chewing. 9 knew there was a time restraint but he was going to enjoy this as much as possible.

The guards looked down through the thick clear floor, watching the blood bath that went on below. One of them moved and picked up an old bottle of vodka, pouring himself a shot before passing it on. Eight of the guards gathered around the opening in the floor and raised their filled glasses to each other. With an inappropriately clear and almost beautiful 'clink', the leader gave some passing words.

"'e vas a shit guard anyvay." And they downed their drinks.

The rest of the pride had fed and were now gathered around 9, who was still stripping flesh and muscle off the corpse. A few stood above, balancing on small cliffs while others lounged on the ground, within safe distance of their leader. It was only a few minutes later when a bloodied and broken skeleton was visible. The skin and flesh had been left on the harder parts, like the head and hands, which left the corpse almost human. 9 had allowed one of his pride at a time come and take a bone from the guard. They all now relaxed, chewing on the bone, snapping it to get to the marrow.

Then the alarm sounded.

Growling, they all stood, waiting for 9 to lead them. He weaved his way through his pride and began the ascent to their prison, bone in mouth. He let out a passing snarl to some of the prisoners who ventured too close to their pathetic prison bars. In the few seconds to spare before they were locked in their cages again, the hellhounds who had gorged and not just fed went to 6's cage and regurgitated their meal, watching with the same worry they would if their own cub was in the same pain. To 9's relief, 6 pulled himself up and began to eat the barely digested meal, licking at the cage floor when he finished. He gratefully growled at 9, who approached him and nudged the scaled muzzle, which returned the kind gesture.

The alarm sounded again.

There was no reason to stay out of their cages and fight; they knew they had no chance of actually getting past the guard's main room. Resigned to their fate, they all returned to their cages, settling down as the steel cage bars slammed down again, locking them in their own prison. But this time there were bones to be chewed and victories to be proud over.

It was a prison. It was his territory in which his pride hunted and lived in. Their own hierarchy was similar to that of the prisoners, but different in the way that they had their bonds. There was no jealous hatred in his pride; they all knew there was no reason. They had no hope, they didn't backstab each other.

And as long as they had their supply of human flesh, they were content.

-Fin-


End file.
